


Tarnished Images

by Tarlan



Series: Images [1]
Category: Jade (1995)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Drama, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-26
Updated: 2006-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:19:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corelli wants to bring the Governor down - but will his witness turn State's Evidence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tarnished Images

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story for the MBFic July/August New Ending and Wet Challenge. I hate it when one of my favorite actor's characters seemingly dies in a film. Here's what I think could have happened next. Suspension of disbelief is always good.
> 
> DEDICATION: This one is for Kathy who felt there needs to be more MB slash . Also for Stacie... there's a scene in here just for you - and a big thank you for checking over this story for me, Stacie

As he walked away from the Governor's office, Assistant DA David Corelli knew that his own chances of advancement had vanished but then, unlike the governor, he had never entertained any serious aspirations of holding great power. He enjoyed his work, and he enjoyed the fact that he could still take a case through the justice system, loving the cut and thrust of the courtroom.

He replayed the conversation with the governor over in his mind, hearing again the denial, the lies, the barely veiled threats. A small smile curled one side of his bruised mouth. He was glad that he had the foresight to take additional copies of the incriminating photos of Edwards with the hooker, Patrice Jacinto. He knew that, by now, the ones at the Police station would have mysteriously disappeared along with any other evidence pertaining to the Kyle Medford murder. He sighed. Coming here had been a calculated risk as, by doing so, he had exposed himself as a potential threat to the governor, but his reasons for confronting the man in his own lair were unselfish. Although he did not love her, Corelli did hold some affection for Trina Gavin - Jade - and he did not want her to mysteriously vanish along with the rest of the evidence. He just hoped he had done enough to protect them both, for had not Patrice Jacinto implied that Jade had 'rocked the governor's world' and could, therefore, become a serious obstacle in the man's own quest for more power should she decide to go public.

He grimaced. What was it that Governor Edwards had once said to him? 'I do the fucking, I don't get fucked.'

Well, perhaps this time, Edwards had better start watching his rear.

***

Several hours later, Corelli returned home to find Inspector Vasko waiting for him outside his apartment building, his bear-like form hidden in the deep shadows of the doorway. Corelli was pleased the policeman had the good sense to stay hidden while he waited, being uncertain as to whether or not he was being tailed since his confrontation with Edwards. Vasko slipped into the building and followed Corelli up to his apartment, no words passing between them until they were safely inside.

"Any news?"

Vasko shook his head, still reeling in shock from the night's events.

"Still touch and go but you know what they say - no news is good news - and his chances should improve with every hour."

Corelli sighed, rubbing a hand through the shock of red hair that was still in disarray from the earlier fight.

"When will we know for sure?"

Another head shake.

"He's out of surgery... now in intensive."

The large man collapsed onto the couch and accepted a large shot of whiskey, his memory taking him back to the hospital and the actions he had taken on Corelli's behalf. He pushed those thoughts aside as he remembered where this had all started; with the vicious murder of Kyle Medford. By all accounts the man deserved his grisly end, but...

"You know she got away with murder."

David Corelli sank to the couch beside the police detective, taking a gulp of the fiery liquid, but looked away, his mouth a grim line. How could he explain why he knew Trina Gavin was innocent without revealing his suspicion that the killer was someone he had known for many years - a man he considered to be his closest friend? Her husband, Matt Gavin.

The cuff link was the clue; a symbol of membership of the prestigious Golden Bay Club where he and Matt often played squash together. But was he convinced that Matt had the ability to kill another in so bloody a fashion? Yes - Matt had the darkness within him. Corelli thought back over the years to their long-standing friendship. They had met at college, both of them aspiring lawyers with dreams of becoming rich and famous, but Corelli had been lured into working for the Prosecution while Gavin chose Defense.

The next question was _could_ he do it? Could he seek to convict his best friend for killing a man who, despite great wealth and position, was little more than a blackmailing pimp; a sleaze-ball in anyone's book.

Corelli closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the couch, carefully considering the options open to him.

He could do nothing, let both the corrupt Edwards and the murderous Matt Gavin get away with their crimes - or he could do his job and bring one or both of them to justice.

Another thought crashed against him, the shock of the night's events only just reaching him. Matt Gavin had saved his life tonight.

He heaved another deep sigh, this time from fatigue, and rubbed tired eyes with his fist. It had been a long night - and all was not over yet. In fact, he realized he had best get moving if he was to figure out a way to protect his one and only surviving link to the governor in this whole debacle. Corelli chuckled softly to himself, shifting movement on the couch making him suddenly aware of the scrutiny from the older man seated by his side. It seemed as if everything hinged on one man, but first that man had to survive - and then he had to be willing to turn State's evidence. Vasko seemed to be reading his mind.

"We've got him listed as a John Doe; victim of an armed robbery that went awry, but that won't hold forever. The Coroner's Office believe they have the body of Robert Hargrove but, sooner or later the family of the real _John Doe_ will come forward."

"I know. Did Hargrove have any family?"

"He might have mentioned a sister - not a close family by all accounts, and they don't live in the city, maybe not even in the state." Vasko rubbed a hand across his own tired eyes. "Whatever happens we'll have to straighten the records before they release the other body for burial."

"How long can you delay this?"

"A week; ten days on the outside. And while we do, both Hargrove's family and the John Doe's will be left in limbo."

"I've no other choice. I'm certain the governor ordered the killing of Patrice Jacinto."

"Yeah... he couldn't afford for that hooker to drag his name through the mud, exposing his extramarital proclivities. Wouldn't want to tarnish that family image he's been cultivating for the public." Vasko paused and looked thoughtful. "You think Hargrove was the driver who killed Jacinto?"

Corelli shook his head.

"No. Hargrove was heading up the investigation with you. The governor needed to keep him safe on the team - as a mole. Wouldn't risk using him for something like that." He rocked his head from side to side to ease the stiffness. "It was more likely to have been Pat Callendar. I remember him telling me he used to drive rally cars, won a few races in his time."

Corelli shook his head in dismay, still stunned that Pat Callendar could have been so deeply involved in all this. He thought he knew the man; had shared drinks and laughs with him. All these years he had known Callendar as a good, solid dependable type - a friendly sort, unlike Robert Hargrove.

"Ten days, you say?"

"On the outside."

"Once his condition has stabilized I'll try to get him moved. Get him under FBI protection until he's strong enough to talk."

"Why, Corelli? Why are you even considering doing this?"

Corelli's eyes narrowed as he remembered the arrogance of Governor Edwards, believing himself to be far above the law of the land - a law that Corelli had made it his sworn duty to uphold, and to bring those who broke those laws to justice.

"Because the thought of a man like Edwards ever becoming President of this country makes me feel sick to the stomach."

"And what about Trina Gavin? Does what she did make you feel sick?"

Corelli turned away from the angry blue eyes, once more wishing he could tell Vasko everything he knew, but there was little point in doing so until he knew whether Hargrove would live or die.

Bob Hargrove; the key to bringing down the corrupt Governor of California. They had never really gotten along even from the first. Hargrove seemed to be carrying one hell of a chip on his shoulder, and Corelli had found himself on the raw end of the man's contempt on more than one occasion. It was never anything major, just snide comments, smart-mouthed asides. Of course it didn't help that he was always on the defensive around the man. He recalled a recent example; a _conversation_ as they watched the reconstructed tape of Jade who was, obviously, ramming a dildo up her client's ass.

 _Ever take it like that, Corelli?_

His retort had been lightning fast, borne out of years of quick-thinking in the court room, and he had meant it as a put down to the implication that he might be a homosexual, by casting the aspersion back onto the other man.

 _Is that an offer, Inspector?_

 _You wish._

The response seemed nonchalant and yet there was an underlying edge of hardness, of contempt, in that softly spoken reply. In fact, on reflection the whole of that exchange seemed so strange and, suddenly, another thought slipped into Corelli's weary mind. He turned to the silent policeman, licking his lips in morbid anticipation of the response he might gain to his next question.

"Was... Is Hargrove gay?"

Vasko cleared his throat uneasily as he rubbed a hand through his own unruly shock of white hair.

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"He kept himself to himself. Wasn't married, mentioned no girlfriends, never talked of his home life." Vasko sighed. "Truth is, the Department isn't supposed to discriminate against homosexuals, but in practice..."

Vasko let the sentence hang heavy in the air. They both worked for Law Enforcement in some capacity, and they were both aware of the dichotomy between what the Department directives said and the reality. He frowned, picking up on Corelli's train of thought.

"So, you reckon Hargrove was blackmailed into this?"

Corelli gave a wry smile and Vasko sighed. He didn't need Corelli to answer that; the governor was the kind of slime-ball who would have given orders to dig up the dirt on anyone who might oppose him - or be in a position to help him given the right _incentive_.

The Assistant DA let his thoughts return to the often too quiet Detective Inspector Hargrove. If he listened hard enough he could hear again the soft drawl that told him Hargrove was not a native to San Francisco. Why had the man moved here? He pictured Hargrove in his mind; pictured the way the man dressed; smart but conservative - boring, more like a man in his fifties - and those glasses, the cheap, thick black frames that gave Hargrove the image of a settled family man. He had been taken in by this image, fooled, like everyone else, into believing Hargrove was far older than his years. Somehow he had always imagined this narrow-minded, staid individual sitting at home with his slippered feet put up on the coffee table. The man would be watching the ball game while his wife of forever pottered around him dusting the tacky ornaments collected over a lifetime of boring vacations.

In sharp contrast was the Bob Hargrove that had attacked him at the Gavin house. The tight, black denim clinging to lean, muscular legs like a second skin. The torso, normally hidden beneath those old-fashioned V-neck pullovers was cleanly defined beneath the dark T-shirt; a leather jacket completed the menacing look. The man he had fought had been lean and hard where Corelli had expected the flabbiness of soft living.

Vasko gave the Assistant DA another sharp look as Corelli shook his head at the amazing stereotyped image he had built up in his head of Bob Hargrove over the years, but the Old Sheepdog had turned into a predatory wolf; sleek, dark, dangerous - beautiful. Amazing how many of your preconceptions could change within a single dark encounter.

The amazed grin dropped from his face. Suddenly, he wanted Hargrove to live... not just to bring down the governor, but so he could find the real man beneath the image he had presented to the world.

***

 **Six Days Later**

 **Washington DC**

Hostile green eyes found his own the moment Corelli stepped into the hospital room. He gave the man a wry grin, pleased despite the cold reception, to see that Hargrove had started to recover from his gunshot wounds. It had been touch and go for a while but, of the three shots fired by Matt Gavin, one had deflected off a rib and the last had missed as Hargrove fell. The only serious bullet wound was the first; it had torn into the man, passing through the lower left side.

"I'm not going to testify against him."

"Have I asked you to?"

Hargrove's eyes narrowed in suspicion. When he had awoken late last night and found himself in a hospital several thousand miles away from his last memory, he knew, instantly, why they had moved him. He was not a fool - except in believing he could keep his own personal skeletons in the closet. That thought brought a sneer of self-derision to his lips. Perhaps if he had stayed in the closet with those skeletons then all of this would have been just a nightmare instead of a terrifying reality.

Last night he had lain awake feeling bitter and angry. He had worked so hard to rise to Detective Inspector, being careful to keep his sexual preference concealed so it would not impede his career options. Now, everything was lost. Everything he had worked towards, every triumph, now tasted like ashes in his mouth... and all because he had feared exposure.

In truth, he hated Edwards and Barrett, the governor's aide, and yet, despite the hatred, despite the loss, he had no inclination to sign his own death warrant by agreeing to testify against the corrupt governor of California. After all, weren't they all the same, people like Edwards - people like Corelli - climbing to their lofty heights on the backs of others; trampling the opposition beneath their well-heeled feet. And why should he help Corelli anyway? The man had never shown him even a modicum of respect; had only ever seemed to hold him in contempt, looking down his patrician nose at him, throwing his family wealth and connections into his face.

While he had struggled to pay his own way through college, then fought to advance through the lower ranks of the Police Department, so many others had leaped ahead using their connections rather than ability to ease their promotions. People like Corelli with their Yale and Harvard education had stepped over him to take coveted positions. Finally, when he had reached Inspector he had stopped fighting. This was what he had always dreamed of being - a Detective Inspector investigating Homicide.

Why could they not have left him alone? Why did they have to make allusions to his preferences? Threaten to make accusations of unnatural and illegal practices that were completely fabricated, but had enough of a grain of truth to ruin him anyway?

It was a moment of indiscretion that had put him into this predicament, leaving him no option but to do as Barrett _requested_. To this end he had hindered the Medford murder investigation, trying to deflect any inquiries away from the governor, and he had supplied Barrett with pertinent information; names of witnesses, details of evidence uncovered.

In hindsight, Hargrove realized that his greatest mistake had been agreeing to accompany Barrett to Matt Gavin's house that night. His task had been to help Barrett sift through both Matt and Trina Gavin's personal files, searching for any incriminating photos, tapes or documents that could link the governor to Kyle Medford and the house in Pacifica.

It had been a shock, when he reached the house, to find Pat Callendar waiting for them. He had worked with the man for a long time and wondered what skeletons the governor had uncovered in that man's closet. His next shock had been when Callendar brutally murdered the housekeeper, Marie, with no sign of remorse. He had heard her shrill scream of terror as he sifted through the files on Gavin's desk but, by the time he reached the upstairs room it was too late. There had been no need to kill her; she had been unaware of them right up until the very end. They could have incapacitated her, tied her up and blindfolded her. She had not needed to die. From the doorway he could barely make out her fallen figure but he had frozen as Callendar moved towards him, the battle-axe held in a loose grip. Callendar had stopped a few feet in front of him and had then proceeded to clean some of the blood off the wicked blade. When Callendar pushed it into his hands without warning, like a fool, he had accepted it and could only stare in horror as the mild-mannered man he thought he knew walked away without a backwards glance. It was only then that he realized Callendar's agenda was far different from his own. Callendar was there to remove all the human evidence - all the witnesses. He was there to kill Trina Gavin.

It all fell into place.

Hargrove remembered that Callendar had been there when Corelli made the arrangements to meet with Patrice Jacinto, the hooker servicing the governor in those photos, and Hargrove remembered an old, almost forgotten conversation where Callendar had boasted about his driving skills. And then there was Justin Henderson, the man who had lived next door to the house in Pacifica... the man who had identified two of the women, and could probably identify some - if not all - of the men who had frequented that property. His death had been suspicious, as if he had known his killer. Perhaps he had... perhaps he believed he was safe allowing a member of the murder investigation team back into his home.

His thoughts returned to that fateful night at the Gavin house. He remembered that he had still been rooted to the spot when the click of high heels finally registered through his shock. As another scream filled the air, he had stepped back into the room half-expecting to see Callendar fulfilling his agenda, but Trina Gavin was alone except for the bloodied corpse of her housekeeper. She had turned, and she had seen him in the half-light, still clutching the battle-ax.

Up until then he might have been able to walk away, although he had a strong suspicion that **he** would have been one of those loose ends that Callendar had been ordered to clean up. However, Trina Gavin had seen him, and from the expression on her face, it was obvious that she had recognized him - and that she believed him to be the killer.

That was when Hargrove had realized that **everything** had gone to hell--and him along with it, and his only way back out was to get rid of Trina Gavin.

All the stress of those last few days, all the anger built up over a lifetime of struggling came tumbling out, consuming him in a rage so powerful that he could barely comprehend the images of those last few minutes. He saw himself attacking Trina Gavin - _Jade_ \- only to be attacked in turn by Corelli. He was hardly aware of the displaced aggression that wrapped a cord around Corelli's throat; still too enraged to let the man go after Corelli smashed him in the side of the head with a hard object, uncaring of the blood that run down the side of his face.

If Matt Gavin had not arrived when he did then Hargrove was certain he would have smashed in Corelli's skull with the spade that seemed to have appeared in his hand from nowhere.

The first bullet had taken him by surprise and yet he hardly felt it, just the blow as his body reeled backwards from the impact. The second had sent him staggering back a few more steps before he collapsed onto his hands and knees.

He remembered there had been a third shot but no pain accompanied it. He had tried to rise, tried to stand up and confront his attackers but fell backwards instead, unable to maintain any balance.

The rest seemed like images from a nightmare; Corelli's bloodied face hovering over him, and then others came and the pain had blossomed through his chest and abdomen as they lifted him. He remembered flashing blue lights and the distant sound of sirens. Blue turned to a series of white lights passing above his head as he was hurtled down a white corridor. More faces, some openly concerned, others half-masked - and then darkness until he had awoken in this room.

It was easy enough to reconcile those images with reality; an ambulance ride through the darkened San Francisco streets; the Emergency Room with its team doing enough to stabilize him as he was prepped for surgery. Yet, through it all, only one voice had penetrated the fog; Corelli's voice...

 _Don't die on me, you sonuvabitch. Do you hear me, Hargrove? Don't die on me._

It was obvious why Corelli wanted him to live; he wanted a witness to testify against Edwards. What was not obvious was why he had felt it so important to follow Corelli's order to live. Why he had fought the encroaching eternal darkness at that man's command, when he no longer had a future to come back to?

***

Corelli walked across the room, hardly noticing that Hargrove's eyes never left his face as he took a seat by the side of the bed, for Corelli was too far gone in his own thoughts to pay that much attention. He gave himself a mental shake and stared at the man. This was the first time he had seen the inspector since that night in the Gavin house. He had kept away deliberately; knowing the governor would probably have men watching his every move, and he could not afford to lead them to Hargrove.

The Bob Hargrove that lay propped up against the pillows was almost a stranger to him, both physically and mentally. The normally well-styled and neat blond hair tumbled over his forehead in natural abandonment, adding a boyishness to the naked face. Corelli smiled. Yes. That's what was so different about Hargrove; the absence of the mustache. His approval of Petey Vasko went up yet another notch. No doubt the Police detective had concocted some story of how much easier it would be to identify a _John Doe_ if they removed all facial hair before the photos were taken. With all the wires, tubes and bandages already hiding much of the body and face, removing the mustache would have changed Hargrove's appearance sufficiently to deceive any casual observers, thereby preserving his anonymity.

Corelli stared a little harder at the naked face. Without the mustache Hargrove not only looked over a decade younger but had revealed strikingly handsome features with stormy green eyes - and a beautifully shaped, sensuous upper lip that had previously been concealed. He pulled back in astonishment when he realized he was staring at the man in a far too intimate fashion and watched as Hargrove touched the newly clean-shaven area self-consciously, the long fingers lingering on his full lower lip as his confusion-laden eyes tried to decipher Corelli's intent.

This prompted him to continue.

"We can place you at the Gavin house at the time of the murder of the housekeeper, Maria De Santa. Matt Gavin will testify that you were the person who attacked, and attempted to murder his wife - and myself."

"What? You're not going to pin the housekeeper's murder on me?"

Corelli smiled.

"Mrs Gavin saw you near the body holding the murder weapon... but it was Pat Callendar who was covered in Marie's blood. We have also linked Callendar to the Jacinto and Henderson murders, for which you may or may not be held as an accomplice. However, you are still an accomplice to the murder of Mrs De Santa, and there's also the breaking and entering, the attempted murder of Mrs Gavin and myself, hindering a murder investigation by withholding evidence..."

Corelli leaned back in his chair.

"You're not a fool, Hargrove. You know all this adds up to some serious time... and you know how they treat cops in prison."

Two weeks ago Corelli would have had no qualms about adding, _but then, you'd probably enjoy taking it that way_ , but now he didn't want to alienate Hargrove any further. He needed the man to testify against Edwards even if that meant biting his tongue to prevent the customary sarcasm from slipping out.

Hargrove smiled, as if he had heard the unspoken words nonetheless and Corelli found himself mesmerized by the glint of humor reflected in the clear green eyes.

"You know Gavin killed Medford, **Mr.** Gavin... your best buddy... not his wife. I found the proof when I was going through his personal files. Dozens of photos of _Jade_ with various clients in dubious sexual positions. Photos that had been taken at Medford's house in Pacifica. Photos that could only have come from Medford, giving Gavin sufficient motive. **And** , despite that _black tie_ party you both attended, Gavin had no alibi at the time of the murder. Motive and opportunity."

Corelli stared at the man for a moment, his blue eyes reflecting momentary sadness at the loss of such a good detective to the SFPD.

"And yet you pushed to have Trina Gavin arrested."

"I did what I was told to do."

"Why? What did he have on you?"

"You really wanna know?"

Corelli nodded his head, his expression serious. He wanted to know what had turned this excellent detective into a potentially murderous criminal. Hargrove looked away, his voice lowering as he made a confession of sorts.

"I'm gay."

"So?"

Wide green eyes looked back over in shock.

"You knew?"

Corelli could see Hargrove putting two and two together--and coming out with the wrong number and, suddenly, he wanted the inspector to know that his sexual orientation had not been the cause of the bad karma between them; that he was not a homophobe.

"I only just found out... but I can't understand why you'd be willing to kill over the possibility of being outed."

Hargrove snorted in derision.

"That was the least of my worries. In fact, I had this whole _out_ scenario planned. Was going to walk into the office one day in skin-tight leather pants and..." He chuckled softly to himself. "Yeah, well. Looks like that'll never happen now."

Corelli found his face heating as an image of Hargrove clad in tight leather swept through his head. He swallowed hard, pushing this new image aside before it captivated him completely. He went back to his original question. He needed to know what skeletons Hargrove was hiding so he could put together a decent enough response to the inevitable questions that would arise in court. He could not afford to have the Defense totally discredit his star witness.

"So what _did_ he have on you?"

A moment of silence passed where Corelli felt certain Hargrove had been pulling his chain, having no intention of revealing the sordid details that had tarnished his reputation; tarnished his image. Green eyes turned away from him in shame and self-directed anger.

"An indiscretion. A kid who looked far younger than his years giving me a blow job - caught on film. A kid who was going to swear it happened a while back... when he was under age."

"It would never have stood up under scrutiny."

Hargrove sneered. "Didn't need to. By the time they threw it out, I'd have seen the word _pedophile_ reflected in every cops eyes... and even once I was cleared of _that_ charge, there would always be the doubt hanging over me. People convinced I liked them under age; that I was just lucky I hadn't been caught for the real thing."

Corelli looked away guiltily, knowing he would probably have been one of those people thinking the worst of Hargrove.

"I've talked to the people here, handed over all the evidence I managed to salvage from the Medford case. They've agreed that we have enough to take that bastard down if we had someone willing to corroborate. To that end, we can offer you immunity from prosecution."

Corelli paused, wishing Hargrove would look him in the face so he could read his expression. He plowed on ahead.

"I want you to think it over. Decide who you'd rather see in prison - him or you."

***

When he returned to Hargrove's hospital room the following day he was expecting a continuance of the hostility; was expecting to have another fight on his hands as he tried to convince Hargrove to testify against Edwards. Instead, Hargrove surprised him by spelling out his own terms for the deal - mainly the reaffirmation that he would gain immunity from prosecution.

"I can't get you reinstated."

Hargrove nodded, having already accepted that his days on the SFPD were over.

"I know. But if my record is clean - then I may be able to get other work, privately."

Hargrove surprised him again, once they got talking, by telling him where to find hard documentary evidence that he had been collecting over the years in the hope of being able to free himself from the governor's tight grip.

Within just a few days, Corelli had enough solid evidence to bring Edwards to justice for more than just his involvement in the Jacinto, Henderson and De Santo murders.

***

 **One Year Later**

 **San Francisco**

David Corelli could hear the sound of the shower as he entered the apartment. He placed his briefcase and laptop on the floor, stripped off his trench coat and suit jacket, and made his way through the main room towards the bathroom. On the way, he loosened the restrictive tie and opened the top button of his shirt. He paused on the threshold, a smile curving his lips as he took in the familiar shape behind the decorative obscured glass of the shower screen. He could just make out the thrown back head as the water cascaded over the lean figure; could imagine the rivulets running down the muscled chest, down the six-pack stomach, before some of the droplets were captured in the dark blond curls.

His smile turned mischievous as he stripped off the rest of his clothes, leaving them in an untidy heap on the bathroom floor before moving towards the shower cubicle.

Bob Hargrove turned his head as the shower screen slid open and grinned as strong arms reached around to pull him into a loose embrace. He sighed deeply and relaxed against the firm body, luxuriating in the feel of those hands roaming over his soap-slicked skin. Turning his head, their mouths met in an awkward yet highly satisfying kiss.

"Hard day at the office?"

"Terrible."

Corelli nuzzled against the wet blond hair that lay plastered to his lover's head, breathing in the fruity smell of shampoo. He lowered his mouth, teeth nipping at the wet, silky flesh that lay at the juncture of neck and shoulder before sucking gently... marking this man as his own as one finger traced the raised edge of a particular scar that marred the man's upper back.

"Hmmmm." Hargrove moaned in approval.

"Are you clean yet?"

"Might have missed a few places."

Corelli chuckled and reached for the shower gel. He squirted a sizable amount on to his fingers and began to tease his lover's opening with one hand while his other played with a sensitive nipple. The teasing continued until Hargrove was writhing in pleasure.

"Do me!"

Hargrove moved until his legs were spread wide and his body bent over, using his arms against the tiled wall for support. Corelli found he could not refuse the heated request and, with a quick rub to smear the slippery gel over his own engorged flesh, he positioned himself and slowly thrust into the tight, hot channel. They moved together in counterpoint, deepening the penetration with each thrust, his hands grasping the lean hips to control the slow but firm movement as his own hips snapped forward. Removing one hand, Corelli reached for his lover's erection, his fingers circling the silken steel shaft, thumb teasing the sensitive head. His hand moved with increasing speed along the length, matching the thrusts as he moved towards a slow building climax. He felt his lover's body tighten around him, heard the guttural moan moments before a warm wetness coated his fingers before being washed away by the still cascading water. His own release followed, his life force emptying into the tight channel as his mind soared. He found himself collapsing against the strong back, grateful that his lover had managed to keep upright despite his own powerful climax.

"What you do to me, baby." He whispered softly against one shapely ear and kissed his lover just below the jawline before stepping back.

Ten minutes later they were lying on the bed, satiated and secure, wrapped in large fluffy towels and each other's arms. A hazy smile bloomed on his lips as Corelli watched his lover's eyelids droop. He loved the feel of this man, heavy and warm in his arms; loved to watch him sleep, enjoying the strange innocence that claimed the almost boyish features at those times, pleased Hargrove had never regrown that mustache.

His thoughts returned to the events of the past year...

***

He had been stunned by the amount of information Hargrove had collected on Edwards, not just documents but video and audio tapes that implicated the governor in dozens of shady dealings throughout the State. That was when it all changed between them. They spent long days cooped up together, going over the facts, sifting though the evidence and, somewhere along the line, the hostility faded away, gradually being replaced by a grudging acceptance and even a little respect for each other. They started off slowly, discussing likes and dislikes; food, music, acquaintances in common. They found themselves smiling at each other's anecdotes; courtroom antics, the people Hargrove had encountered during his years as a cop.

Basically, they became friends as the tarnished image each held of the other crumbled to reveal a far different, far more worthy man underneath.

The final change occurred two days into the trial when a man stepped out of nowhere, gun in hand. Corelli could only watch in horror as Hargrove fell beneath a single close range shot, blood blossoming on his upper chest and bursting out of his back as the bullet tore right through him.

***

Looking back, his only solid memory of that moment was of his own voice screaming for the paramedics as he ripped off his jacket and used it to staunch the flow of blood from both entrance and exit wounds. The only other clear memory was of an emotion; fear... fear that Bob Hargrove would die.

Corelli tightened his grip upon his sleeping lover as the horror of that moment came back to haunt him again, but a muffled groan of discomfort broke through the terrifying memory, forcing him to relax his grip.

***

After being forced to relinquish Hargrove to the Paramedics, Corelli had found himself standing alone on the sidewalk, covered in gradually cooling blood; Hargrove's blood. His next clear memory was of being pushed naked into the shower at the hotel room that had become his home over those few weeks, feeling hands scrub away the blood that had seeped beneath his cotton shirt to smear across his flesh.

It was in the early hours of the following morning that he finally forced himself to examine that fear, and in doing so he had to acknowledge an even greater one. All his life he had chosen to remain alone, his few relationships with both men and women fizzling out due to some special ingredient being missing. Until that moment he had not figured out what that special something was, but now it was staring up at him, blindingly obvious. He had loved and yet, until now, he had never been _in_ love.

To Edwards eternal damnation, his organized hit had the opposite effect; the captured gunman giving greater support to Corelli's prosecution and, inevitably, the jury found Governor Edwards guilty on all counts without requiring Hargrove to retake the witness stand.

To Corelli's eternal relief, Hargrove survived once more, and when the trial came to an end, he convinced the ex-cop to return to San Francisco. With a clean criminal record - and a good word put in by an Assistant DA - himself - Hargrove managed to obtain a license to investigate privately, for once being the one able to use his connections, both in the Police force and through his friendship with Assistant DA Corelli, to make a decent living.

All the while, Corelli spent many an hour searching for the right words that would, hopefully, win over the other man, using his position to obtain work opportunities that would keep Robert Hargrove close by.

Two months passed before he felt confident enough to make his first move, wanting to put the ugliness of the Edwards case far behind them; he never wanted that man to come between them again.

***

Corelli smiled as he remembered the day he made that move. It was fortunate that words were a specialty of his, honed by years of sparring in and out of the courtroom, but it was even more fortunate that Robert Hargrove had come to recognize the true emotions behind his words, seeing beyond the courtroom persona, beyond the image he projected to the rest of the world.

That was the first time they made love, and it had felt like a homecoming; so good, so perfect... so right.

Yet still, they started this new stage of their relationship as if walking on eggshells, afraid of breaking each other, of destroying the newfound feelings that had developed between them over the course of the past few months.

A few more months down the line and Corelli had convinced Hargrove to move in with him, permanently, ignoring the upraised eyebrows of colleagues and friends who had not known of his bisexuality. After all, this was San Francisco - and if you couldn't be open here, then where the hell could you?

***

Hargrove snuffled in his arms, his grip tightening around Corelli's torso, blond head moving until it lay more comfortably on his lover's chest. The soft, warm breath caressed Corelli's neck bringing another smile of satisfaction.

Corelli looked across at the bedside clock. Exactly one year ago, almost to the minute, he had held Hargrove in his arms and screamed at him in fury.

 _Don't die on me, you sonuvabitch. Do you hear me, Hargrove? Don't die on me._

Now, a year later, Bob Hargrove was still lying in his arms but, this time, a new set of words echoed around his head.

 _Don't ever leave me. Do you hear me, babe? Don't ever leave me._

THE END


End file.
